Miriam felt the now-familiar
fluttering of her heart and lay down on the ground before they reached their
peak. This time, a shooting pain lanced up from the back of her neck up through
her skull. She felt like the top of her head might explode. Darkness.
When she woke, she could not feel
her right side, and she wondered how she would get home. The red dwarf sun had
set, and the moons were already high. At least it would not be completely dark.
She slept.
There was nothing to disturb her,
not even an ant. Nothing to see her distress, not even a bird or a buzzing
insect. No one to rescue her. Her lips were thick and dry when she woke. She
fumbled around with her left hand and found her water bottle.
Two swallows. That’s all she ever
allowed herself. It took so long to capture the condensed water vapor from the
air, she felt the need to save as much as possible. This was a rather
exceptional situation, of course. She gave herself two more long swallows.
She could rock, side to side, and
when she finally rolled onto her useless right side, she pushed herself up with
her left hand, straining all the muscles she could feel to pull herself sitting
upright. The moons were bright in their apposite orbits, and they would give
her good light for most of the night. She tried to estimate how far she was
from the house. How long had she been walking?
Sitting, she could push with her
left leg and help with her left hand. She felt ridiculous. It was a long time
since she had felt self-conscious. Mainly she was glad she had worn her
threadbare jumpsuit for sun protection that day. She rarely bothered with
clothes any more. She could feel the fabric rubbing and tearing against her
bottom and the backs of her legs. So much for the jumpsuit. She grimaced.
The moons had crossed by the time
she pulled herself close enough to see the house. She had only two swallows
left in her water bottle, and she promised herself she could drink them as soon
as she reached the porch. In the moonlight, she could see past the house to the
headstones lined up in a military-straight row. “Should I pass the house and
come lie down with you?” she thought to her old friends. She rarely spoke aloud
any more. Only to Alice.
“Alice, I’m hurt,” she said, lying
on the porch after she drank her last two swallows of water.
Dogs in house
|
Houdini
|
Time writing:
|
~1 hour (all three parts)
|
August word
count:
|
16,508
|
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